About an hour to touchdown. The youngest of girls is restless and I’ve got to keep her from losing it (after all, she is only 3, and four hours in one seat is hard even for my butt), a kind young college student has the baby asleep across her chest, and John and me are counting minutes until we finally land and can unload our 36 suitcases off this 747.
I’ve got a lot bouncing around my mind – I guess that is all this writing will be about…
I wish I could stretch my body, maybe even get upside down just to get a new perspective, but flight attendants might not care for a yogi blocking the aisle. I love how I’ve found grounding in this practice – when I am stressed or need to clear my mind, it is the first choice I go to. Writing a close yet more laborious second – alas, I choose the latter merely because I must do something.
I yearn to hug my brothers and sisters, nieces, nephews, my daddy and his amazing wife. I cannot wait to see my friends and laugh together. Now John’s parents live there (I know, super small world) and they will be awaiting us in the PDX terminal when we deplane – I cannot wait to see my mother-in-law’s face when she sees us all again – no doubt she will cry and it will rub off on my smiling eyes. I cannot wait to drive the streets I once knew like the back of my hand, and breathe in the smell of tall Evergreen trees and cool, wet earth.
Going home has always been a wondrous, yet difficult, experience since leaving in 2006. I’ve missed what I left behind, and when it becomes present once more, my heart can hardly contain the love and nostalgia.
A couple of days ago, I felt burdened by the certain feelings which emerge most obviously during my stays home. I miss my Mama and begrudge the lost years – how in the hell has 13 years come and gone since my mother last said she loved me? I miss the white picket fence house built in the garage and the man whose hands built it. I miss the person I was then, completely trusting and sure of how life goes, unaware of the brokenness which would befall her and the ones she loved the most. I miss how easy it was to see my future because it seemed so clear.
Alas, God has a way of pushing us out of our comfort zones, does He not? I was not meant to stay in Vancouver Washington. I was not meant to be Tim’s wife. And, most devastating of all, we were not meant to watch our mother grow old – 39 years on this earth was not enough, but time proved a cruel and stunning con artist; I now go home and notice most what is missing… her.
Yet I am quite happy, in spite of these casually written drawbacks to such happiness; my family that remains is quite a buzzing of joyful activity and I am so looking forward to loving on them again, especially because it is Christmas.
Sometimes I marvel that God took me to Texas, and I was meant to build a life in San Antonio where I would birth all of my children, become a foster Mama to a Texas son, and marry a wonderful man. I marvel that the home of my childhood, the home of my youth, was not the same as the vision God had. He led me to a new horizon, to unfamiliar streets, to smells and sights and people I did not recognize. And it was so that He made this my new home…
There will always be things I miss. Always be people left behind whose absence will be a scar to my soul, and there is nothing to do but honor the truth of that. There will always be a sense that Texas is not really my home, not the one I loved so dearly, but I am grateful for the opportunity to grow in my new foundation, and mature into this new environment, right where God planted me. Though I will always understand the fundamental nature of what I left behind, and how that shaped who I’ve become, I sometimes cannot quite accept the way things happened to bring me here… to where Washington is merely a place I travel to for a few days and once more leave behind.
I think, however, it certainly makes me treasure these moments that much more clearly, dearly, and with intention. To hold them longer. Smile more. Breathe in the clean fresh air deeply into my lungs and stand still amongst my favorite bit of earth.
I am so ready to touch down. For the days ahead. They are few, and that much more precious for it.
I will not be saddened by what is not, but be grateful for what is. That love remains right where I left it, it just looks a lot different now.
To Mama. To my first love. To the old streets and houses we once made home. To brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, in-laws, and my daddy & the woman he married whom became my best friend. To time beside my family again, drunk on love and pleasantly celebrating the season forthcoming.
So, so ready.